Highlander: Princess of the Universe
by jdeathok
Summary: The first in a series.  The Adventures of Sara MacLeod Begin.  The six hundred year old Immortal is reunited with an old friend.  But can she trust him?


**HIGHLANDER**

**PRINCESS OF THE UNIVERSE!**

J_deathok

Disclaimer: Highlander belongs to Davis/Panzer productions. I am not getting paid for this. However, Sara MacLeod belongs to me. You may use her in stories just give credit where credit is due.

Glenfinnen, Scotland. 1422

The wind blew softly over the heather, as the young boy ran over the grassy hills. The sun was beginning to set over the horizon and the air smelled of wildflowers. But, he didn't notice any of this or the soft feel of his light blue plaid kilt on his knees. He stopped just shy of the river.

"Sara!" He hollered, "Ol' Angus wants ta see ye!"

"Oh, bloody hell!" came a soft voice, "I'm bloody bathin'."

"Well hurry. He's hoppin' mad!" he called, "I think he's gonna bust his bloody gut."

"Don' talk like that! It's disgustin'."

A moment later she came up the hill, her hair still wet and her clothes sticking to her body. Adam MacLeod looked the older woman up and down. At 22 she was twice his age, and she was a lovely woman. Her blonde hair hung halfway down her back and her eyes were a soft blue. His eyes floated down to her chest, were he could see... He could see, never mind what he could see.

"What are you starin' at lad?" She asked, "It's na polite to stare at a lady."

"Sorry"

Angus MacLeod was the fattest man in all of Glenfinnen. When Sara had been a child she'd often wondered if he was the fattest man in all of Scotland. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, his ample belly practically hanging out of his kilt but, he was Clan Chieftain and a good leader. Unfortunately, he was also quite temperamental. Now he was mad at his niece.

"Sara." He said, "James MacDougal told me you spit in his son's face."

"He's a prude."

"Sara," Angus sighed, "This marriage could prevent a massive clan war. It will save the lives of many. Besides, Luther MacDougal is a fine lad."

"Well, you bloody marry him."

The two young men from the MacDougal clan weren't supposed to be near the holdings of the clan MacLeod but they were. They were also not supposed to be harassing the horses but, they were. Grinning they ran to the ropes and cut the entire line free. Then they ran back and forth screaming and yelling.

"Now you listen to me!" Angus yelled, "You are my niece, and my responsibility. When your Da died I promised I'd take care of you! But, sometimes I just wanna take you o'er my bloody knee!"

"Do you hear that?" Sara asked calmly.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Somebody's foolin' with the horses." With that she turned and headed outside the cabin.

Outside, she heard a loud roar, and saw a cloud of dust. Curious, she went towards it. It turned out to be one of the worst mistakes she could have made. As she got closer she tripped on a rock and fell flat on her face.

"Sara!" Angus screamed too late.

Looking up, Sara saw the clan's horses stampeding towards her. It was the last thing she saw before she died.

Salt Lake City, USA 1995

Eric Markus sat behind the bar in his nightclub, Obscurité, working on his latest Watcher chronicle. Sara MacLeod made very good material, but she'd been largely inactive for the last year. Well at least his club kept him busy. And Sara's search for employment was kind of interesting. Yeah, about as interesting as a ten day excursion in one of those small towns in southern Utah. Boring as hell in other words.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He looked up and nearly fainted with shock. There silhouetted in the doorway was his assignment. Her hands were stuck in the pockets of a black duster and a pair of sunglasses adorned her face.

"Hello?" she said.

"Um," Eric quickly hid the chronicle, "May I help you?"

"Yes." she smiled, "I hear you were looking for talent. I can sing and play the guitar."

"Um, excuse me," he croaked, "I'll be right back."

"Joe?" Eric hissed into his phone, "What's wrong with the connection?"

"Could be," Joe Dawson replied, "The fact my phone in Seacouver is set to transfer you to my cell."

"You're in Paris?"

"No," Joe said, "Scotland."

"Oh," Eric's voice was dull. "I'm not asking. Anyway I have a problem. My assignment wants to work in my nightclub."

"So give her an audition," Joe told him.

"B-but," Eric stammered.

"Trust me, you won't regret it."

Today-

Pounding music thumped through the room as bodies cavorted and twisted under the hot lights. People came to these clubs to dance and forget the worries of life. Fun was the great escape. Although, Sara MacLeod wondered if these so called "Goths" would like her music if they knew what it was. The Gaelic words told of a man who was madly in love with a beautiful woman that he couldn't have. It wasn't the gothic style.

Then she felt it. An odd tingling sensation that filled her whole being and drew her attention. Not missing a beat on her guitar, her eyes drifted to the door. A tall man entered the room, towering over the crowd. He looked to weigh three hundred pounds to boot. All of it muscle. And Sara knew him. His name was Victor Krysteck.

Nodding in her direction he smiled softly, before making his way to the bar. Then Sara turned back to her music. She would worry about what he was doing here later. Without, missing a beat she continued the song.

Krysteck smiled listening to the music. The beat wasn't very good and the lyrics were in a language the Siberian Immortal didn't understand. It was a beautiful language though, and Sara MacLeod was a wonderful performer. Too bad he was going to have to kill her.

After she finished the song, Sara came off the stage and went to the bar, joining Krysteck. She shook his hand, and gestured Eric over.

"Hey Sara." Eric leaned over to give her a kiss, "Who's your friend?"

"Eric," she replied, "This is an old friend of mine, Victor Krysteck. Victor, this is my fiancé Eric Markus."

The two shook hands with forced smiles on their faces. Eric leaned over and eyed the large man before him.

"So," he commented dryly, "what brings you to Salt Lake?"

"Business." Krysteck replied, "I'm in the fishing business and I'm expanding to include brine shrimp."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Eric told him, "our city is filled with brine shrimp and other kinds too."

"Nice tattoo," Krysteck told him, "What's it mean?"

"Like I'm going to tell you," Eric told him.

"Eric!" Sara snapped. "I introduced you to a friend, now be nice, or you'll sleep on the couch."

"Dang," he replied. "I feel like we're already married."

Krysteck on the roof of a small warehouse was staring out across the city. It was a beautiful night, perfect for making plans. Of course, he made plans for centuries. A large smile spread across his rugged features. After eight hundred years, he'd learned how to charm anyone into trusting him. Hmm, trust was important. One had to earn trust, to bide his time. And if everything was timed right, trust was a weapon.

A loud crash interrupted his thoughts causing him to spin around. There stood a small man in a tweed suit. The guy looked positively British, which was a good thing, since he was British.

"I do not understand your incessant need to pretend to be friends." the guy began, "Why don't you just kill the bitch and get it over with."

"Because," Krysteck spoke firmly, "I want it to be worth it when I take her head."

Moscow 1798

The vodka glasses were overflowing, the food was being consumed, and the talk was great. Actually, the talk was quite boring. Sara MacLeod found herself wondering why she had agreed to come to the party. In fact, she wondered what the hell she was doing in this god-forsaken country anyway.

An odd sensation washed over her causing her to look to the door as the largest man, she had ever seen walked through it. He must have been seven feet tall with huge muscles. Sara approached with caution glad for the crowd.

"I am Sara MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod" she informed the stranger.

"Victor Krysteck." he replied, "And you can relax, I'm not here to challenge anyone."

She looked him up and down as she sipped her drink, "I don't think many people would dare to challenge you."

He smiled softly and shrugged. He regarded her with serious eyes.

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

Modern days-

Eric sat on top of a table in his club, drumming the fingers of his left hand on his knee as he listened to the voice coming through the cell phone in his right hand. He didn't like what he was hearing.

"She says they've been friends for a long time," Eric told the man, "but, I need to know if the rumors are true."

"You mean about his modus operandi?" The voice sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. He likes to set his opponents up big time."

Eric hung up the cell phone with a sigh. He wondered how he was going to tell Sara, that her "friend" had every intention of chopping her beautiful head off of her beautiful neck. He supposed he could tell her that he already knew she was Immortal. Then again, he just wasn't ready for that.

Sara smiled as Krysteck's assistant poured her an ample amount of vodka. The dapper British mortal seemed quite at ease amongst the Immortals. He glanced at his boss and turned and left the room.

"So, how long has your friend known?" she asked, more as a conversation starter than anything else.

"All his life." Krysteck told her. "His father found out when he accidentally shot me. I was there when the young man was born."

Sara laughed, "He's what fifty?"

He shrugged, "Well, he is young compared to us, isn't he?"

"Good point."

She stood up and walked over to the window. Looking out she saw the mountains in the distance and a few cars going by nearby. The temple was in full view, it looked safe. Then again, she thought, the Masons had had a fit when the Mormons had built the thing. It was completely and totally Masonic.

"You said you wanted to ask me something." She turned to him. "What was it?"

Krysteck stood, walked over, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sara, how long have we been friends?"

"A couple centuries." She replied

"Well," he said, "I have a sanctuary in most cities. It's not on holy ground, but, weapons are strictly forbidden. I don't use metal detectors, since I only let the people I sincerely trust come in. I'd like to invite you to have a drink sometime, say a week from today?"

Sounds delightful," Sara said, sincerely

Moscow 1799

Farsworth wasn't a trusting man. He rarely made friends and he usually didn't trust them. So it was a big deal if he trusted someone. Especially, if that person was another Immortal. And that's how he found himself at an abandoned building in one of the less well thought of parts of Moscow.

This place stunk like crazy. That was the first thing he noticed as he walked through the door. The second was that there was only one servant. A smallish guy who locked the door behind Farsworth as he came in and led him down a small hall.

At the end of the hall stood Krysteck. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the servant, who left closing the door behind him. The large Russian the contented himself with staring at a large brown spot on the wall.

"What is that bloody, stench?" Farsworth asked finally.

"I'm not entirely sure." came the response, "But, one gets used to it."

Krysteck gestured at the brown spot, "However, this is what concerns me. My servants have tried everything to remove this spot, yet nothing works. I'm thinking of covering it with some kind of tapestry. Something expensive."

"Good idea." Responded the other, "and while you're at it why don't you get me some tea."

"You don't have time."

Farsworth stared, "What?"

Krysteck turned around smiling. Farsworth had the distinct impression that he was in really deep trouble.

"You're not a very trusting man Farsworth." the Russian told him, "Why did you trust me?"

"I've known you for three hundred years," Farsworth said, "If you were going to kill me, you'd have attempted it already."

Krysteck shrugged. Then, he walked over to a small cupboard and pulled out a sword. One that couldn't possibly fit in a cupboard that small. Must be deeper than it seemed. Of course the Brit didn't have enough time to worry about it.

He turned and ran for the door, only to find it locked. He turned around and began to really panic. He'd been stupid really, really stupid. And now he was going to pay for it.

Krysteck grinned as he swung the sword, "You shouldn't be so trusting."

And then the Quickening came.

Modern days

Eric slammed his hand down on the bar. "I forbid it."

"What are you?" Sara snapped, "my Mother?"

"Okay," he admitted, "Maybe, that wasn't exactly the right thing to say. Sara I have a really bad feeling about this guy."

"You should trust me, Eric." she told him, "I know what I'm doing."

"I just think you should watch your back more."

Two days later

As Sara MacLeod sat astride her Harley outside the warehouse where Krysteck kept his sanctuary in Salt Lake, she thought of that argument. Eric didn't trust anyone. But, there was something in his eyes. After a moment she made a decision.

Inside the warehouse, Krysteck was waiting alone, in a large room. It had been converted into a kind of lounge. A really big lounge, but a lounge none-the-less.

"Welcome." he said calmly, "You look ravishing."

"This old thing." Sara looked down at her coat with the T-shirt under it, and her blue jeans, "I just threw this on."

"I thought you'd wear a dress for once." He grinned, "But, then again. Maybe not."

He turned around and headed to a small cupboard, set in the wall. Reaching in he pulled out a rather large sword.

"Neat trick." she commented, "But, I've seen it before. I thought you trusted me."

"I do." He smiled, "I'm the one who's not very trustworthy."

Reaching into her coat Sara produced her katana. "I don't trust anyone, except me and my fiancée. You are neither."

And then the fight began. Charging across the room Krysteck brought his sword swinging towards Sara's head. She parried the move by bringing the sword up and then around as soon as it connected with his. Then she made a swing at him, but he leaned out of the way. He swung for her again, this time aiming for her gut, but she parried it and tried to thrust. He blocked it expertly, and then made a mistake. He brought the sword high over his head and made a mighty swing. Sara ducked under the sword and swung her body around his, ending up behind Krysteck. Without missing a beat, she stuck her katana into his back. His sword slipped to the ground as his knees bent.

"I'm not that naïve." she told him. And then she swung.

Lightning lashed out of his body around the room and into her. Bolt after bolt flew out breaking lights and windows, as she absorbed them. One stray bolt slammed into the cupboard reducing it to splinters. Sara noticed none of this. She was lost in her own world as her body shook with the energy she was absorbing from the other Immortal. His memories and everything he was went into her so fast that her conscious mind wasn't able to process it. And then, it was over.

Crying, she bent down and picked up Krysteck's sword. She walked over to him and plunged the sword into the ground next to him.

"Good-bye, old friend." she whispered.

Eric looked up, as Sara came in. She looked like hell, her coat was torn her hair looked ragged, and she'd been sweating.

"You were right." she told him, "He was using me."

"Where's he now?" he asked even though he already knew.

She sat down at the bar, "He left after I kicked his butt." Well, it was half-true anyway.

Eric walked around the bar, and poured her some Scotch. Then he poured himself some.

"I'm sorry." he said, "I know he was your friend."

"No," she whispered, "You're a friend."

He lifted his glass, "To friends."

"To friends." she answered.

End.

Next time, Speed Demon.


End file.
